


A Long Time Coming

by starspangledmanwithaplan



Category: Gifted (Movie 2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Gen, Heavy Angst, Insecurity, Multi, Physical Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Insert, Verbal Abuse, Verbal Humiliation, domestic violence towards woman, frank is amazing, insecure female reader, insecure reader, more to come - Freeform, plus size reader, reader's boyfriend is a bad man, violence towards woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-05-23 17:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14938787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmanwithaplan/pseuds/starspangledmanwithaplan
Summary: It feels like every other day you’re in Frank Adler’s garage while he looks under the hood of your beat-up vehicle, trying to diagnose the newest problem. He’s always been sweet about it; you coming in at the last second because you’re running late for work, always slashing the prices so you don’t go broke.One day, on your way into work, your radiator overheats, leaving you stranded on the side of the road. Knowing he won’t let you down, you call Frank. Ever the gentleman, he gives you a ride, but when he drops you off at work, he discovers a secret you had worked so hard to keep.You promised your boyfriend you’d never cheat, but now you’re not sure what you have could even be called love.What happens when Frank finds himself falling for you? Will he be able to keep himself from intervening in the toxic and tumultuous relationship you and your boyfriend have?





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

Pulling up to the auto shop, you were apologizing before you even stepped out of the problematic car. “I know, I know,” you mumbled, cringing at the looks you were getting from one of the other men that worked alongside Frank. “I just… I put water in it like you showed me.”

Squinting in the sun, Frank gave you a warm smile. “Open her up,” he instructed with a chuckle. “Let me see what’s wrong with her today.”

It was a long-running joke that you were almost single handedly keeping the place in business. At least, you had no doubt you would be doing as such if Frank didn’t give you every discount he could think of. Then again, if he hadn’t been doing that, you would have gone flat broke months ago. Being a waitress, you basically lived off of your tips, and living in a small town didn’t help matters. Between that and your boyfriend being in charge of the finances, you barely had two pennies to scrape together.

After popping the hood, you stood there, bouncing on the balls of your feet, alternating between obsessively checking your watch and chewing on your nails.

“Running late again?” Frank inquired, his grease-covered hands checking every nook and cranny of the old engine.

“You know me,” you chuckled in irritation.

You hated being late for work, especially when you had left with plenty of time to spare. Or so you had thought. The problem of the week was the radiator. No matter how much water was added, no matter how many times Frank looked at it and ensured that nothing was actually wrong with it, the son of a bitch kept overheating.

Frank opened the radiator cap and carefully peered inside. “Looks like she’s running low.”

“Again?” you groaned, hands thrown up in irritation. “I just filled it last night.”

“I’ll get some water, Y/N,” he said warmly before turning away, a dark red rag working between his hands.

As if on cue, your cell phone rang. It was James, your boyfriend of for the last year, and you knew better than to let it ring more than three times.

“The fuck you at?” he snarled into the phone.

God, you hated it when he was drunk. “The radiator started overheating,” you explained. “Stopped in to the shop to have it looked at.”

“You ain’t a mechanic,” James noted sarcastically. “How the fuck you know it’s the radiator?”

“Frank said -” You knew what was going to happen before the Frank’s name slipped out of your mouth.

“I told you, Y/N,” he ground out through his teeth. “I don’t want you near that asshole. Get in the car and leave. You’re going to be late for work.”

You swallowed around the knot of anxiety in your throat. “I… I told you,” you stammered. “The ra- radiator overhe- overheated.”

James let out a barking laugh. “You’re so fuckin’ dumb, believin’ everythin’ that prick tells you. He’s just tryin’ to get in yer pants. And I won’t have that.”

Blinking rapidly, you tried to make your tears disappear at the sight of Frank emerging from the garage with a jug of water. “That’s not ho- how it is, and you kn- know it.”

He started mocking your stutter, the one that only came out when you were talking to him. “He’s a man, Y/N. All we do is think with our dicks. Now get yer ass to work or so help me…” he let your imagination summon up a horrific scenario as his voice trailed off, a deep chuckle rubbing against your eardrum as he disconnected the call.

“Y/N, you alright?” Frank asked, concern heavy on his brow, his hand reaching out for your shaking one.

You couldn’t let him touch you. James would find out. He always had a way of finding out what you had done when he wasn’t there.

Jerking your hand away, you shoved the phone into your pocket and forced a smile. “I’m fine, thank you. Is… is it good to go?”

“Yeah,” he muttered as he closed the hood. “You  _sure_  you’re okay?”

God, you wanted to tell him everything, right then and there. But, the last thing you wanted, was for James to have another reason to be pissed at you.

“I’m sure,” you insisted, hoping that your smile was warmer than the last. “How much?”

Frank was shaking his head. “No charge. All I did was pour some water.”

“Frank, come on,” you urged, reaching into your purse and grabbing the wallet you knew damn well held less than $20.

He shook head again. “No charge,” he repeated, his tone not rising in the slightest. “I’ll call the diner, let Marge know you’re on your way.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, relief washing over you, damn near driving you to tears. You ducked into the car and held your breath as you turned the key. When you saw the temperature reading on the gage on your dash, you rolled down your window and gave him a bright smile.

Frank waved as you backed out, the serpentine belt squealing shrilly, drawing more than a few glares from the people that were wandering around town.

Twelve hours later, thirteen dollars in tips, and two very sore feet later, you were finally home. Stepping out of your shoes, your back started screaming. All you wanted to do was draw up a hot bath, light some candles, drink a glass of wine, and soak the pain away. You never got the chance.

James’ hand was bruisingly tight on your upper arm as he hauled you close and yelled in your face. “Where you been, you fuckin’ slut!”

“Work, James,” you gasped, standing on the balls of your feet, your shoulder close to being pushed out of the joint. “Ma- Ma- Marge asked if I wanted to pi- pick up a couple of extra hours. Tho- thought it would be a good i- idea.”

With a sneer on his lips, James mocked your speech impediment again. “Oh, yo- yo- you did, di- di- did ya?”

Tears started to stream down your cheeks, but you knew how James hated to see you cry, so you swiped them away quickly. “I sho- should have ca- called. I’m sorry.”

His dark eyes roved over your face, whiskey-laden breath hit your face, almost making you gag. “Yeah, you should’a. I’m hungry, woman, make me somethin’ to eat.”

He released you so suddenly, that you dropped to the floor, landing painfully on your hip, your hands slapping against the hardwood flooring. You sniffled quietly as you pushed off the floor, knowing damn well that if you stayed there for too long, James would give you a reason to be on the floor.

“Steak or chicken?” you ask after clearing the emotion from your voice, a smile on your face.

James smiled wide and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “There’s my girl. Steak, and don’t overcook it this time.”

You pulled in a ragged breath when he turned away, strolling across the room to resume watching whatever football team he was rooting for that week.

_I can do this._


	2. Chapter 2

After another long day of working on Mr. Abernathy’s large boat, Frank stopped at the diner. He sat in his usual spot, back corner, booth, facing the front door. It also happened to be Y/N’s section. To Frank’s dismay, she wasn’t the one that came to take his order. It was Marge, and she didn’t look too happy.

“Your usual?” she asked, her voice thin, annoyed, concerned.

Frank nodded, turning in his seat to notch his elbow on the bench. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Out sick. Poor thing called in two days in a row,” was Marge’s answer before turning away and handing Frank’s order to the chef.

_She didn’t look sick the other day._

He was worried about her, which wasn’t a good sign. They weren’t together, they were barely even friends, just two people in a small town that saw each other several times a week. Barely any conversation flowed between them, nothing personal, always having to do with that piece of shit car she owned. Come to think of it, Frank knew more about her car than he had ever known about anyone.

Not that he hadn’t wanted to get to know Y/N, know more about her. God, how he had wanted to. He had wanted to ask her to go out with him, to dinner and a movie, maybe go out dancing, a picnic on the beach, maybe some moonlit swimming, but she put a stop to that straight away.

“My boyfriend, James…” Three words that made his heart drop in disappointment.

Frank hadn’t met the man, but there were rumblings, rumors, harsh words that lit a fire under several of the older women in town. They said he was, “A drunk, just like his daddy. Cruel, heartless…”

Marge slid a plate of food in front of him. “Things goin’ alright, Frank?”

“I’m with the most beautiful woman in town,” he beamed up at her, shooting her a wink. “What could possibly be wrong?”

The check, and a glass of sweet tea, were dropped to the table next. “Dunno,” Marge shrugged. “You looked like you were thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’.”

“That’s what people do sometimes,” he teased, chuckling when the older woman slapped his shoulder.

“You know what I mean, Frank,” she pushed, dropping into the seat across from him. “You were think’ ‘bout her, weren’t ya?”

With a mouthful of food, Frank shrugged. “Dunno who you mean.”

Marge rolled her eyes. “Can’t bullshit a bullshitter. You know damn well I’m talkin’ ‘bout Y/N. And before you try weaslin’ out of it, I’ve seen how you look at her.”

“Yeah, alright,” Frank sighed, dropping his sandwich to the plate. “You caught me. I like her.”

“But she’s -”

“With James.” Another sigh, this one heavier than the last. “Don’t worry, Marge. I’m not going to act on anything. I’m not the kind of man to go storming into someone else’s relationship.”

The manager of the diner gave a warm smile and reached out to grip Frank’s hand. “I do wish she had met you first.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he wondered, brows drawn together, concern washing over him.

Marge didn’t answer, just gave a tight-lipped smile and went back to work. He called after her, repeating the question, but the only answer he received was from Bill Wilder.

“You wanna holler like that,” the old man called out, glaring at Frank, “you git outside!”

“Alright, Bill,” Frank conceded, a hand in the air, his stomach rolling under the weight of Marge’s words.

_What in the fuck did she mean?_

Three days, it was the longest your car had survived without you needing to bring it into the garage, to have Frank add more water to the radiator, only to have it run empty the following morning. To be fair, you hadn’t left the house for two of those days.

“I’m sick,” was what you’d told your manager, when the truth was much darker.

James hitting you had been your fault, you knew that, you shouldn’t have sassed him, not when he’d been drinking,  _especially_  when he’d been drinking.

“What’s this?” he interrogated you, shoving a receipt into your face. It was from the pharmacy, a prescription your OBGYN had sent over, three months of birth control pills. Nothing out of the ordinary, right?

“Pills, James,” you gasped, pain at the base of your skull making you wince. James’ hand was buried in your hair, tugging harshly on the strands.

“I can see that. Why are you getting birth control pills?” James spat out, his breath hot on your face.

You raised one of your hands and covered James’ hand with it. “Be- because our insurance wo- won’t cover the sho- shot.”

“Liar,” he snarled, yanking your head back, making the muscles in your neck scream in agony.

“I… I’m not.”

“You’re fuckin’ that Frank guy, ain’t ya?”

Your eyes went wide at that. “No, James. I’d ne- never cheat on you.”

“So you say.” He threw you away from him, sending you stumbling back into the counter, making you yelp in pain.

“I wouldn’t,” you insisted, tears clouding your vision.

“You’re all talk,” he grumbled, reaching for the bottle of jack on the table.

When he took a large drink, his head back, his eyes closed, four words left you in a huff. “You’re not any better.” If you thought he hadn’t heard you, you were mistaken.

James marched over and grabbed the back of your neck, his grip like a vice. “What’d you say to me, fat ass?”

“No- nothing,” you whined, lying through your teeth, looking into his dark eyes, praying that he would believe you.

With a snarl, he hauled you away from the counter where your hands had been gripping the edge so tight your knuckles ached.

“You still haven’t learned, have you?” His voice was eerily calm, steady, the calm before the storm.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out. God, he hated hearing you snivel and whine.

James released you slowly, smirking when you flinched. “Guess you need to learn your lesson.”

In the blink of an eye, his fist, the one that had been on the back of your neck mere moments before, came down hard on the back of your head, driving you to the floor and into the pitch of unconsciousness.

There was smoke pouring from out of the radiator, making you cough and gag. You waved your hand through the smoke, hoping you could get it to clear just enough to get the cap off and add some more water.

“Please, please,” you begged, tears threatening to spill. “Come on.” The radiator hissed loudly, scaring you, making you jump back, a screech in the back of your throat.

“Fuck you,” you shouted, kicking the bumper.

You stomped over to the wide open driver’s side door and dropped down, thrusting your hand into your purse to fish out your phone. Looking at the time, you groaned, your head falling back, disappointment flooding through you. You were going to be epically late for work.

_Why can’t I do anything right?_

Opening your phone with a swipe of your thumb, you scrolled through your contacts, your finger hovering over James’ name. No, he’d scream and berate you, call you worthless and dumb. The friend you hadn’t talked to since moving in with James wasn’t an option. The last time you two spoke, she begged you not to go, but you turned your back on her. A tow truck? No, that would cost an arm and a leg, both of which were aching from the other night.

You were about to give up, grab your purse, and walk the remaining three miles to the diner when you saw the one name you knew you could rely on; Frank. Without another thought, you hit the call button.

“This is Frank,” he announced after four rings.

“Hi,” you squeaked. “It’s me, I mean, this is… it’s Y/N.” God, you sounded like an idiot.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he chuckled. “Thought you skipped town.”

“What? Why would you think that?” you laughed nervously, your gut churning.

“Hadn’t seen you at the garage for a few days. That, and Marge said you were sick.” You could hear the worry in his voice.

The breath you were holding came out in a rush. “Oh, yeah. I’m fine, Frank. I mean, I’m feeling better.”

“That’s good. So, what can I do for ya?”

_Here goes nothing._

“I was driving to work, and out of nowhere, the radiator started smoking again. So, I pulled over to the side of the road and opened the hood. The smoke is so thick and it’s hissing really loud,” you blurted out.

Frank was chuckling again, and you didn’t exactly hate the way it sounded. “Calm down,” he instructed. “Tell me where you are, and I’ll be there in a few minutes.

He hadn’t been lying. Five minutes later he was there, driving the tow truck, and smiling gently. Frank backed the truck up so that the chains were facing the engine. Stepping out, he gave a small wave.

“Hop on in,” he said, holding his hands out for the keys. “I’ll get her hooked up and drop you off at work.”

“You sure?” you inquired, handing over the keys. “I don’t want to put you out.”

“I’m not put out in the least,” Frank assured you.

With an unsure smile, you got into the truck, your purse in your lap, and craned your neck as he went about getting your car hooked up. It didn’t take long, a handful of minutes, but you found yourself watching his every move, appreciating how snug his dirty shirt was, showcasing his wide shoulders and flexing biceps.

Frank must have felt your gaze on him, because he looked up and gave you a smile that made your knees feel like jelly. And then, the guilt slammed into you like a ton of bricks.

You turned around and chastised yourself. You were in a relationship with a man that loved you. At least, that was what he said.  And you loved him, right? You wouldn’t have stayed with him if you hadn’t loved him. That was what you told yourself.

Frank took his place behind the wheel, the slamming door pulling you from your thoughts. “Alright, let’s get you to work.”

You could feel him stealing glances at you from the corner of his eye, but you didn’t acknowledge it. You couldn’t, not with your inner voice screaming at you, calling you the very names you hated when James uttered them. Slut, whore, fat ass, worthless. You deserved to be called all of those names and more for the way you had been admiring Frank’s physique several minutes back. You loved James. You’d never cheat on him, even emotionally.

He put the truck into park after coasting to a stop at the outer edge of the parking lot. “I should have it fixed and brought back in a couple of hours.”

“Oh, yeah, okay,” you murmured, working your hair into a bun on the top of your head, wincing at the bite of pain at the back of your neck, at the way your hair moved against the knot James’ fist had left.

Frank must have noticed, because the next thing you knew, he had reached over and moved the collar of your shirt. “Shit, Y/N, he gasped. “What the hell happened?”

 _Shit, fuck, shit._  You should have been more careful.

“Nothing,” you said a little too quickly as you opened the door. After securing your purse, you all but launched yourself out of the truck and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you for the lift.”

You slammed the door and quite literally ran into the diner, apologizing profusely to Marge for your tardiness. Putting what had just happened to the back of your mind, you shoved your belongings into your locker, affixed the black apron around your wide hips, and dove into the fray.


	3. Chapter 3

After fixing Y/N’s car, Frank dropped it off, just as he promised. He wanted to go in and hand over the keys, if only for selfish reasons, just to see her made his heart flutter in a way it shouldn’t.

The bruising on the back of her neck made him see red. He had never felt such rage before, boiling right below the surface, threatening to rip him apart from the inside out, and it kind of scared him. When she bolted, he called after her, desperation filling him, chasing away the absolute hatred for the man Y/N said she loved. She was inside the diner before he was halfway across the parking lot, his heart pounding in his chest, his palms slick with sweat.

In the parking lot, he stood there, his eyes locked on Y/N as she damn near worked circles around the other waitresses, a genuine smile on her face, one that lit up her face, made her eyes sparkle. There went the fluttering in his chest again.

_God, she’s stunning._

Small town or not, the diner was a busy place; residents of said small town, tourists, and people just driving through, their destination further down the coast, to bigger beaches, to catch bigger fish. Y/N made sure to make each patron feel at home, never far away when their drink needed to be topped off, to make sure everything was okay with their meal, to chat with familiar faces. Now, if only they tipped well.

Making up his mind, Frank tucked the keys into the visor, hopped into his truck, and headed back to the garage. He needed to keep himself busy, to keep his mind occupied, to keep from thinking about Y/N. So, he buried himself in his work; the Abernathy account. It was a lot of money in his pockets if he could pull it off. God knew he needed it.

It was well after the sun had set when Frank closed up shop. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. No matter how hard he tried, Y/N was on his mind, those goddamn bruises were a stark contrast the skin they colored. Then there was the desperation in her voice when she had called. He wasn’t blind, Y/N only called him because he was the last person she should even be  _thinking_  about calling.

Even the guys at the shop had been giving him a hard time as of late. Frank’s specialty was boats, fixing them, restoring them, remodeling them. It sure as hell wasn’t cars, but that didn’t mean Frank turned his back when someone needed it, and Y/N needed it. He just didn’t know how much.

Frank had called, left a message with Marge, letting you know your car was done and where he had stashed your keys. So, after another grueling ten hour shift, you sat behind the wheel and let your head fall back, your eyes closed, a pained sigh leaving you. You ached deep into your bones, the kind that would take more than a long soak.

Home was the last place on earth you wanted to go, but you had no other choice, no one else wanted you. You were fat, dumb, clumsy, always saying the wrong thing, couldn’t do anything right. James had been… kind in taking you in and loving you. Was it what others considered a normal, healthy relationship? No, but you didn’t deserve that.

Sighing heavily, you turned the key and headed home. Hopefully, James would be in a good mood. You prayed he was, you didn’t think you could handle another fight. The other night had been bad enough, getting knocked out that resulted in a concussion. You had to give him credit, he was nice after that, those two days following, bringing you meals in bed, pain relievers, ice packs. It was the first time in a long time that you enjoyed his company.

Fifteen minutes later, you walked through the front door, hung up your jacket and purse on the hook, and slid out of your tight sneakers. The house was almost dark, just a sliver of light from the bedroom, James’ snores drifting through.

_Thank God._

Moving quietly, you darted into the bathroom, shut the door, and ran yourself a steaming hot bath with lavender epsom salt. Stepping into the steaming water was like Heaven. With a folded up towel behind your head and the knots in your body slowly starting to unravel. It would have been easy to lose track of time, had you been in what most considered a ‘normal’ relationship.

The water went tepid quickly, making goosebumps appear on your exposed skin. You let out the water and emerged slowly, making sure not to slip or trip. After drying off, you brushed your teeth and walked naked through the living room to the bedroom you shared with James.

He was snoring loudly, mouth open, sprawled out on the bed. Not wanting to wake him, you had learned your lesson after the last time that happened, you pulled on your pajamas, grabbed your pillow, and headed out to sleep on the couch. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and you didn’t doubt it would be the last. Grabbing the blanket that was draped over the armrest, you snuggled deep into the cushions, diving deep into the pitch of sleep.

Frank was at the docks, the sun high in the sky, sweat shining on his forehead and the back of his neck, his muscles weary and overworked. He had worked forty-eight hours straight to get the Abernathy boat close to being completed, and he hoped that today would be the day he could call Mr. Abernathy and tell him the job was done.

No matter how hard he tried to focus, he kept thinking about the bruises on Y/N, how she bolted from the car, how the tone of her voice argued with the words she had said, that nothing was wrong. There was something wrong, and it was killing him not to know everything. He had his suspicions, that the rumors floating around town weren’t rumors at all, that James was an abuser.

Marge had said that she wished Y/N had met Frank first. He had a small idea of what she had meant, but he needed to know more. He would head over there as soon as he had a chance. He didn’t have to wait very long, just a few hours later and he was placing a call.

Mr. Abernathy was all smiles and firm handshakes, a check for a large sum of money handed over moments later. Frank hadn’t expected to see so many zeroes, but he felt like he did a good job of hiding his shock. After handing over the keys to the boat, Frank hopped into his truck and headed to the diner.

“I need to talk to you,” he said to Marge as soon as he was inside.

Marge went to argue, but the look in Frank’s eye made her stop. She motioned for him to follow her through the kitchen and out the back door where she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, notched one between her lips, and lit it quickly.

“This about Y/N?” she asked, her eyes sad.

Frank’s hands were on his hips. “What you said the other night, tell me what you meant.”

“It’s not my place to -”

“Marge,” Frank ground out, a hand swiping over his face. “I haven’t slept in two days, I don’t want to hear excuses. Tell me what you know.”

She pulled in a long drag before giving Frank what he wanted. “James was a troubled child, and his daddy was a cruel man.”

“He beat him,” Frank sighed heavily. “The rumors about James abusing Y/N, they’re true then.”

“Nobody has seen him do it,” she muttered, taking another drag, her hand shaking. “But that’s the way they operate, isn’t it?”

Both hands were on Frank’s face as rage boiled inside of him. He had never been a violent man, but men who beat up women brought out the worst in him, made him want to rip the men apart limb from limb. He shook his head in an effort to push away the violent thoughts.

“What do I do?” he asked the older woman.

Marge flicked her cigarette into the designated receptacle. “Be there for her, become her friend. She’ll open up. Until then, I don’t know that there is anything you can do.”

“You have experience with… men like James?” God, his name tasted vile on Frank’s tongue.

“More than you know,” she admitted shakily. “But, that was a long time ago.”

“Will you help me save her?” Frank implored, his hand gripping hers and squeezing.

Marge gave a warm smile, her eyes damp with unshed tears. “Absolutely.”


	4. Chapter 4

You’d been at the diner for a handful of hours, cruising through the dinner rush, forcing a smile for the patrons, doing your best to ignore the pain in your lower back. It wasn’t from busting your ass, being on your feet for ten hours at a time or your frame protesting to the five pounds you had gained recently, though the bruises you were sporting were entirely your fault. That much you did know.

“You stupid, fat ass bitch,” James snarled, his hands on your shoulders, shoving you away from him.

The small of your back connected with the edge of the counter, biting into your spine, making stars burst in your vision. “I’m sorry. I just… I thought that -”

“You thought that I’d wanna fuck you?” he scoffed, disgust carved into his face. “You’re fucking disgusting, Y/N. How could you  _possibly_ think I’d wanna fuck you?”

Your heart squeezed at the vile tone of his voice. “No, I didn’t… I know, James.”

“You know, huh?” James asked, waving his hand in front of you. “If you know so goddamn well, then why are you strutting around wearing…  _that_?”

That, consisted of a t-shirt that was tight across your breasts and a pair of shorts that stretched around your hips. While they were snug, they remained the most comfortable items of clothing you owned. Were they sexy? Not according to you. Then again, James was the one calling all the shots.

“I’ll change, okay?” you offered, moving away from the counter, your skin prickling and irritated.

“Yeah,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. “You do that.”

You scurried past him, hiding your face with the help of your hair, your hand over your mouth to suppress the sob that was climbing out of your throat. The door was barely latched, your hand on the handle, tears streaming down your face, when a bottle cracked against the door. You jumped back with a high-pitched yelp, tripping over the laundry basket full of clean clothes.

The door bounced off the wall after James kicked it open, slapping his hand against it as it came back at him. “You think that changing is going to fix things? God, you’re fucking stupid.”

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed, not caring that James hated it when you sounded pitiful, like a child. “Please, let me… let me make it up -”

“Make it up to me?” he laughed viciously. “There’s nothing you can do. Not now. Not looking like…  _that_.”

You made your way off of the floor, using the bed for support as your legs were shaking uncontrollably. “What do you want me to do?”

His lip was curling back when he said, “Get your ass dressed and get to work. There’s nothing you can do for me.”

After the dinner rush had died down, Marge waved you over to the back corner of the diner, where no other patron was in sight. “How ya doin’, kid?”

“I’m alright,” you lied expertly, smiling at the older woman.

“And James?” she prodded, her brows pulled together tightly.

“We’re fine, Marge,” you snapped defensively, turning on your heel to storm away. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t -”

“He hits you, doesn’t he?”

Before turning to face Frank, you squared your shoulders. “What happens between James and I is none of your damn business.” It took everything you had to keep from running to Frank and begging for him to help you escape from the hell you called your life.

Frank’s eyes were sad when he said, “I’ve seen the bruises, Y/N.”

You couldn’t stop your hand from flying up to the back of your neck. The deep purples had started to fade, green and yellow now ate at the edges of where James’ hand had been. “I uh, you didn’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Marge gave you a knowing smile. “We want to help you get away from him, Y/N. But, we can’t do that if you don’t help us.”

“Who said I needed help?” The words burst out of you loudly, drawing the attention of the cooking staff. After clearing your throat, you stared hard at Marge, because if you looked at Frank, you’d drown in his azure eyes. “I don’t need any help, boss. I’m fine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have tables to tend to.”

Frank’s hand on yours stopped you dead in your tracks. You didn’t pull it away, but you did flinch, and it was something that didn’t go unnoticed.

“We can’t force you to do anything you’re not ready for, Y/N. Just know, that whenever you need us, we’re here. I’m here.” His voice was low, heavy with heartache.

Tears had started streaming down your face the moment he touched you. It had been so long since another person hadn’t touched you out of anger that you had almost forgot what it felt like, and now that Frank reminded you, you never wanted it to stop.

James’ voice was in your ear, reminding you how fat you were, how unlovable and undeserving you were, how lucky you were that he kept a roof over your head and clothes on your back, that without him, you’d be alone and even more pathetic than you already were. The sad part was that he was right. After years of abuse, you believed every negative word he had to say about you, you believed that you deserved to be treated like garbage.

With Frank holding your hand, you had every intention of turning around and accepting their offer of help, but you couldn’t, not when James’ voice was quick to remind you how worthless you were, how bothersome you had become over the years. You were needy and helpless. The last thing these two people needed was someone like you.

You shook your head and pulled your hand from Frank’s, hating the way your heart clutched in your chest. “I’m not feeling well, Marge. I’m going home.”

Surprisingly, James wasn’t angry with you for coming home early. You lied, told him that the staff to customer ratio was off, that Marge had given you the night off. You thought that maybe the two of you could curl up and James could pick out a movie to watch on Netflix, but James had other ideas.

Football and whiskey, that was what his evening consisted of. Not that you really minded. When there was a game on, and his team was winning, James was in a great mood. It gave you time to clean up around the house without him looming over your every move, judging you.

Thankfully, by the time you were done with the chores, the game was over and James was asleep in his recliner. You left the television on, though you did lower the volume, and covered him with a blanket. You were headed into the bathroom to take a bath when a wave of exhaustion hit you like a tidal wave. Changing course, you turned off the lights and trudged to bed.

It was a handful of hours before your shift the following morning when James had an idea.

“Come on,” he urged, holding open the front door. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“A walk?” you scoffed. “It’s literally over a hundred degrees outside.”

James rolled his eyes as you tried his patience. “And you need to lose some weight. Let’s go.”

You knew better than to argue. “Okay,” you conceded, quickly putting on your sneakers. Thankfully, you hadn’t been in your uniform, otherwise, you’d put up more of a stink about it.

Fifteen minutes crept by, and you hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what Frank and Marge said. You had no idea if their offer was genuine or some kind of joke. You hoped it wasn’t a joke, because deep down, you were petrified of what was going to happen next.

What was James’ breaking point going to be? When was he going to come completely unhinged and not be able to stop himself from  _really_  hurting you?

Your mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and scenarios. The what ifs were deafening, you were drowning in regrets, but there was one question that broke through all of the noise.

 _Does James love me?_  You had absolutely no recollection of James professing his love, even in the beginning, when the relationship was amazing. You were so wrapped up in your own mind, in that one question, that you hadn’t realized you asked it out loud.

“The fuck…?” he wondered, turning to face you.

Swallowing thickly, you met his gaze. “I didn’t -”

“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me,” James ground out, towering over you. “You got somethin’ to say, you fuckin’ say it!” He wasn’t going to let it go, so you repeated the question clearly.

“Do you love me?” You had no idea what his response was going to be, but to see him bent at the waist, laughing heartily, made confusion and fear prickle along your skin.

He was wiping tears from his face as he stood. “Oh, Y/N. You’re funny.”

“I don’t see why you find that funny.” Your throat was thick and your stomach was tying itself into knots.

“Wait… you’re being serious right now?” James asked, quickly closing the distance between you. “Oh, my God, you are.”

You worked to keep your face void of any emotion that might betray you, but you must have stood there too long, staring at him, because the next thing you knew, James’ fist collided with your cheek. You would have fallen to the ground, but James’ hand was around your bicep, squeezing and twisting as he held you close. Black dots swam in your vision as you struggled to comprehend what was happening.

“You know, I’m the only one that will ever love your fat ass,” he snarled, his eyes deadly, his breath smelling like cheap whiskey.

That was when you realized James had reached his breaking point, that it was now or never, that if you didn’t get away from him right then, you’d wind up in a body bag. Without a second thought, you kicked him between the legs as hard as you could, ripping your arm away as soon as his grip loosened. As you took off at a dead run, James was howling in pain, bent at the waist, hands covering his groin.

“You’re gonna pay for that,” he threatened, screaming in a way that made you wish you were already dead.


	5. Chapter 5

Fear was a great motivator.

Your muscles were cramping up, sweat was running in rivulets down your back, and you knew that the people you ran past were staring at you, but you didn’t care. If you stopped, there was no doubt in your mind that James was going to catch you. But, if you kept moving, if you kept putting one foot in front of the other, that meant you had a chance to get away for good, to survive.

When the garage where Frank worked came into view, you choked on a sob. You honestly didn’t think you were going to make it another step. Hell, you felt as if you were going to pass out, but you kept pushing, straight through the front door, and into the bathroom. You threw the lock and rushed across the small room where you dropped to your knees and threw up into the toilet.

Once your stomach stopped rolling, you flushed the toilet and drug yourself off of the floor. You didn’t dare look at your reflection as you turned on the water and splashed your face, making sure to rinse your mouth out. It didn’t get rid of the taste of vomit, but it would have to do the trick.

“Y/N?” It was Frank that knocked on the door, his voice low and worried.

Before unlocking the door, you wiped the water from your face with a paper towel. Frank was standing there, his eyes flicking over your face, especially the bruise from James’ fist. You watched as anger flashed across his face, and you couldn’t help but flinch at the way it darkened his eyes. It lasted only a second, just long enough for Frank to see the way you reacted.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, taking a step back, giving you room. “Are you okay?”

You thought you had run out of tears, so when your eyes filled up once again, you let out a groan of disappointment. “No, I… I’m not okay, Frank. I… I need your help.”

“Let’s go to the office,” he offered softly, a tip of his head as he lead the way.

Frank sat back and watched Y/N as she drank glass after glass of cool water. Her legs and hands were shaking, and she kept looking over her shoulder to the door.

“It’s okay, Y/N,” he assured her gently. “You’re safe here.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “I ain’t safe anywhere. He’ll find me, Frank. He always finds me.”

Frank wanted to sit next to her, to drape his arm over her shoulder, and comfort her in any way he could, but he wasn’t going to. The main reason was that he didn’t want to scare her more than she already was, and the other reason was that he didn’t completely trust himself not to do something stupid.

He was about to reassure her, to swear that he’d die before anything else happened to her, but he didn’t get the chance. The door burst open at that very moment. It was Cole, and he looked scared.

“He’s here, Frank.” The words left him in a rush and his eyes fell on an already-crying Y/N.

“I’ll be right there, Cole.” Frank ran to his desk and pulled out a key from the top drawer, pulled Y/N off the couch, and shoved the key into the door handle. “As soon as this door is closed, you lock it, and you hide under my desk.”

“Wha- what about yo- you?” she stammered, her eyes wide with fear.

“Lock the door,” he repeated sternly. “Do not open it for anyone other than me, okay?”

When she nodded, Frank slammed the door behind him, thankful when he heard the key turn. Pulling in a deep breath, he rushed out to the lobby and almost crashed into a very drunk and belligerent James.

“There he is,” James accused, a snarl on his lips. “The man that’s fuckin’ my girl.”

Frank was shaking his head. “James, I’m not sleeping with Y/N. All I do is fix the car.”

James laughed loudly. “You don’t even fix cars! Your spe- specia… you fix boats.”

“You’re right,” Frank agreed, taking several steps closer to James, hoping that would steer the man away from the hallway. “But I do know how to pour water into a radiator.”

Cole, who was nineteen and had never seen James in the flesh, was holding the shop’s phone in his shaking hands as the color drained from his face.

“So you  _are_  fuckin’ her.” James stood to his full height, which was a solid three inches taller than Frank. “Where is she?”

To his credit, Frank remained calm, though his heart was hammering wildly in his chest. “She ain’t here, man. I haven’t seen her lately.”

“Bull-fucking-shit,” the drunkard slurred. “I know she’s here.”

“James, I’m telling you, you’re wasting your time,” Frank insisted, continuing his journey towards James.

Despite being hellbent on finding Y/N, James’ body acted on its own and started backstepping. “I’ll find her, Frank.”

“Not here, you won’t. Now, either you leave, or I call the cops.” Frank held his hand out for the phone, which Cole handed over quickly.

James scoffed painfully loud. “And tell ‘em what?”

“I’ll tell them that you’re drunk and threatening the staff,” Frank answered coolly. “I’ll tell them that you’re violating your probation by drinking and driving. I’ll tell them that I’ve seen the bruises on Y/N.”

Rage flashed in James’ eyes. “It’s her word against mine.”

Frank pushed a button on the phone, filling the space between them with the dial tone. “You have a history in this town, James, and it ain’t pretty.” The number nine was pressed, making James grind his teeth.

“I know people on the force,” he threatened under his breath.

Frank pressed the number one while holding James’ dark gaze. “Not as many people as I do. Now, what happens next is all up to you. Go, or I finish calling the emergency line.”

James stood there, glaring at Frank, his hands balled into fists, his chest heaving, for all of thirty seconds. Sneering, he turned on his heel and stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to crack the glass. Cole let out a groan as he hunched over the counter, and Frank watched to make sure James actually left. Only after the car had disappeared down the street did Frank march back to his office.

“Y/N, it’s me, it’s Frank,” he announced, knocking on the door with his knuckles. “James is gone.”

A moment later, she was opening the door and lunging at him, hugging him and weeping openly, staining his shirt with her tears. Frank held her close, yet refrained from kissing the top of her head.

It was several minutes later when he said, “We gotta get you out of here.”

“I know,” she sniffled. “But, where am I gonna go?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Frank promised.


	6. Chapter 6

Fresh out of the shower and wearing some clothes that had belonged to Marge’s daughter, you were seated at the small kitchen table, a hot cup of tea in your hands, and your knee bouncing.

“He’ll know I’m here,” you mumbled under your breath, fear making your scalp itch. “This was a bad idea.”

Marge shook her head for the hundredth time. “He won’t,” she insisted sternly. “Only a handful of people know about this place.”

‘This place’ was a one bedroom, one bath, nine hundred square foot, one level cabin. It wasn’t far from town, but it was hidden, out of the way, trees and bushes obscuring the view from the road. The doors had several locks on them, strong and sturdy ones, ones that made you wonder if Marge had walked a mile in your shoes.

“He always finds out,” you continued to argue, though weakly. You let out a sigh that turned into a yawn. God, you were tired. Your eyelids were heavy, your muscles were weary, the bruise on your face was pounding. It felt like you needed no less than four days of sleep.

Frank sat down, his hands clasped together, inches from your own. “He’s at home, Y/N. There’s no need to worry about him right now.”

“How do you know?” you choked, tears spilling down your face once again. You desperately wanted to believe Frank, but past experiences trumped everything else.

His fingers flexed, the urge to console you becoming almost too much for him. “A buddy of mine just drove by. He said the lights are on, the truck is parked out front, and he could see James through the windows.”

“Probably drinking.” You ran a hand over your face and groaned. “Fuck, I should go back.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Frank growled, a scowl on his brow.

“Over my dead body,” Marge said at the same time, her hand on your shoulder. “You’ve already taken the first step by asking for help.”

Your chin was quivering as you melted into the woman standing next to you, your cheek on her stomach. “I didn’t know it was going to be so hard.”

Frank grabbed the box of kleenex from the counter and handed it to you. “We’ll be here with you, Y/N, every step of the way.”

For the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why anyone, let alone someone amazing like Frank, would want to help you. You were an overweight waitress at a diner, you weren’t anything special. Hell, you weren’t even anything mediocre. You were nothing, less than nothing -

“No one deserves to be treated that way,” Frank answered your unspoken question, anger flashing in his eyes. “No one.”

Sitting up, you wiped your nose with a kleenex. Frank was right; nobody deserved to be treated the way James had been treating you. Deep down, you knew that you deserved better. But, years of abuse and negativity sure had a way of deforming your thought process.

“If I had just lost the weight,” you murmured.

Frank’s hand was on yours, squeezing, his thumb sweeping over your pulse point, and God, did it feel good. “You are not to blame for any of this. James is the one that has a problem, not you. You… Y/N, you’re beautiful and smart and sweet, and… and if James can’t see that, can’t treat you like a queen, then that’s his problem.”

“What?” you croaked, disbelief weighing on your voice. Had he just called you beautiful? No, you had to be hearing things.

Marge rested her hand atop yours and Franks’. “Frank ain’t wrong, sweetie. The way James has abused you, has twisted your thoughts into something negative… it ain’t right.”

You were still staring at Frank, heart hammering in your chest, your mouth going dry. He thought you were beautiful. What was wrong with him?

“We’ll be with you the entire time, doing everything in our power to get you away from that animal,” Marge continued. “It ain’t gonna be easy, trust me.” Her weary chuckle snagged your attention from the man in front of you.

“Who was it?” you rasped.

She smiled sadly before answering. “My ex-husband, Danny. God, he was a mean drunk, controlling, possessive; just like James. Took me fifteen years to get away from that man, and not a day goes by that I ain’t thankful to the ones that helped me. If they hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here today.”

You let out a soft sob at that. There was no doubt in your mind that James would be the one responsible for your death if you didn’t get out.

“What’s the next step?”

Frank sighed in relief, his hand flexing on yours. “First, you need to go to the police.”

You swallowed around the knot in your throat. “But, you’ll be there with me, right?”

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away,” he assured you with a warm smile.

Who knew filing a police report would be so damn exhausting?

The questions were seemingly endless, their almost accusatory tones grated on you, fueled your anxiety, turning on the fountain of self-doubt, making you shrink back. If Frank and Marge hadn’t been there, sitting in the waiting area the entire time, you would have bolted hours ago.

You were currently showing them the scars and bruises James had adorned your soft body with. You winced as fingers prodded gently at the marks, as the camera flashed brightly, as several sets of eyes scanned over you, judging you, ridiculing you. When you were told you could cover up, you about cried out in joy.

Four hours later, you were signing your name at the bottom of the report.

“Is there someplace we can reach you at?” the officer asked.

Fear surged through you. “Why? I uh, I mean, he won’t… James won’t get that information, will he?”

“No, of course not,” she assured you. “But, we need to know how to get a hold of you for follow up questions.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you murmured, your hand shaking as you wrote down the phone number and address for where you were staying. “What about a restraining order?”

The officer was nodding. “We need to talk with the other party first.”

You were shaking your head. “You don’t understand. If he finds me, he’s going to kill me. I need that restraining order.”

“Okay, it’s okay,” she said, her hand on yours. “Give me a few minutes, let me see what I can do.” She grabbed the file and stood tall, giving you a warm smile before heading across the precinct to make a call.

You liked her, she was the first officer you had talked to during your time there that didn’t make you feel like she didn’t believe you. She had been kind and understanding, using a soft tone to keep your already-frayed nerves somewhat calm.

Glancing around the room, your eyes fell on Frank. Well, the silhouette of him. He and Marge were still in the waiting room, probably flipping through magazines or looking at their phones, their patience wearing thin, wishing they were doing something productive, dealing with someone that wasn’t you.

Tears clouded your vision once more and it made you groan in frustration. You hated crying, especially where people could see you, more so when those people were strangers. You knew they thought you were weak, that you deserved the bruises you were sporting, that you pushed James to hit you.

“Sorry about that,” the officer said upon her return, making you jump.

“Fuck,” you mumbled under your breath, hand over your heart.

You could tell she felt bad for chuckling. “I didn’t mean to scare you. So, I was able to get you a temporary restraining order until we can talk with James.”

“Oh, thank God,” you sighed wearily.

She handed over the order. “He can’t call you or be within five hundred feet. If he breaks this, you call it in straight away.”

Nodding, your eyes roamed over the piece of paper. “I can do that.”

“Good. Now, do you have anyone staying with you?” She asked, her eyes flicking up to the doors that led to the waiting room. “Someone safe.”

_Only a handful of people know._

“Yes, I do.”

She gave you a warm smile. “That’s good. Is there anything else you need at the moment?”

**A stiff drink.**

“Not that I can think of,” you answered, returning her smile, standing a moment later, restraining order clutched in one hand.

“I’ll be in touch.”

You gave her a small wave before turning away and heading out the doors.

Frank wasn’t sure how much longer he could sit there. He wanted to swoop in and make sure the cops were doing everything within their power to keep Y/N safe. It was irrational, he knew that, but he couldn’t stop his heart from hammering, he couldn’t keep his mind from racing, he couldn’t stop remembering the way it had felt to hold her close.

Damn it, he was too emotionally invested.

Marge’s hand was on his knee. “It’ll all work out, Frank.”

“I just want her to be safe,” he huffed, dragging a hand over his face.

She gave a soft chuckle. “That ain’t all.”

“No,” he agreed, shaking his head. “It ain’t. But, I ain’t gonna do anything about it. I can’t.”

“That’s true, for now.”

“Marge,” Frank sighed, turning to look at the older woman.

“Oh, come on. You like her,” Marge pushed. “Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

She was right, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the way he felt about Y/N.The only thing that would be considered wrong was if he acted upon those feelings. She was going through a hard enough time without Frank admitting that he wanted to spend the rest of his life making her happy.

The doors opened then, and Y/N emerged, clutching a sheet of paper and looking like she wanted to do nothing more than cry, or go to sleep. Possibly both. Frank was up and giving her a hug, hating the way her shoulders were shaking as she cried.

“What’d they say?” he asked, his voice low and soft.

It took her several long moments before she could answer. “They have to talk with him, get his side of the story.”

“His side of the story,” Frank growled. “Fuckin’ ridiculous.”

Standing back, she held up the paper for him and Marge to see. “They also granted me a temporary restraining order until everything is sorted through.”

“That’s more like it,” Marge said. “Now, let’s get you home, get some food in you.”

Y/N gave a wear chuckly as they made their way out of the police station. “I could eat.”


	7. Chapter 7

Two days after filing the report, James showed up at the diner; drunk, hurling slurred obscenities your way, coming well within the five hundred feet restraining order. You threatened to call the police, but he just laughed in your face.

“They can’t protect you,” he sneered, his whiskey-laden breath making you gag.

You narrowly managed to avoid his vice-like grip on your upper arm. “Go home, James. This is your last warning.” Your voice was shaking, but you were glowering at him as if he were the last man on earth. You knew he could feel the hatred radiating off of you in waves, and you couldn’t help the burn of satisfaction in your chest as he took a step back.

“Mark my words, Y/N,” he started, finger pointed in your general direction. “You’ll remember who you belong to.”

“I belong to no one.” It had taken you years to finally realize that, and once you did, there was no turning back. You weren’t an object, a thing to have; you were a flesh-and-blood person, and you deserved to be treated as such.

There were flashing red and blue lights that made the diner feel like a rave. All that was missing was the obnoxious music and the crowd of people that pulsed with the beat.

“You fuckin’ cow,” James snarled.

Frank was at your side, a large and comforting presence, a phone in his hand, wearing a smirk as the police officers started to arrest James. You watched as the two men dragged James out of the diner, obscenities spat at you even as he was forced into the back of the squad car.

One of the officers came back in, asking, “Are you alright?”

“I am now,” you sighed, tears threatening to spill.

“Thank you for coming out so fast,” Frank said, his hand held out to the young officer.

The officer turned his gaze to you. “He’ll see the judge in the morning. You don’t have to be there, but it might help.”

Frank wrapped an arm around your shoulders as the squad drove away, waiting until it was out of sight before saying anything. “I’ll go with you, if you like.”

Without even thinking about it, you wrapped your arm around his waist and turned into him. “I would like that very much.”

“Forty Eight hours,” you huffed in frustration. “That’s all?”

Marge was seated at the table, a beer in her hand and a scowl on her brow. “Listen, I hate the bastard as much as you do, but -”

“No, don’t say it.” You were shaking your head, a hand raking through your hair as you paced around the kitchen.

“I don’t even wanna think it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” her voice trailed off as she took a drink.

Your eyes fell to Marge, a woman who had become so much more than your manager in a short time. She had done more than walk a mile in your shoes when she was younger; your relationship with James was a mirror image of how her husband had treated her.

“There’s no history, just rumors. I should have come forward sooner, I know that, but… it’s not fair.” The tears you had miraculously held at bay started falling.  

Frank came into the room, a set of keys in his hand. “I think we should get your stuff out of there while he’s locked up.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Marge agreed. “That way you know where he is and he can’t do a damn thing to stop you.”

You were nodding and wiping away your tears. “Will you come with me, Frank? I… I don’t want to go alone.”

He gave a reassuring smile and reached out for your hand, which you took and squeezed. “I wouldn’t dream of letting you go there alone.”

It was late the following afternoon by the time Frank brought you to the house you shared with James, and it was an utter mess; shards of glass littered the floor, beer bottles were overflowing from the sink, the garbage had started to rot, and everything you owned was strewn about the bedroom and living room. The sight of it, the place you had lived, had tried to make a home, made your heart drop.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled under your breath, moving to start cleaning up the mess.

Frank’s hand was on your wrist. “No, that’s not what you’re here to do.”

You went to apologize again, that feeling of never being good enough overwhelming you, as if everything were your fault, that you needed to make everything perfect. Frank was shaking his head, his crystal eyes gently probing into yours.

“Let’s get your things.”

As you were shoving your belongings into a large garbage bag, you kept peering over your shoulder. You were scared that James was going to come home. He would be enraged, having spent time in jail, having been… embarrassed by you, by your refusal to tuck tail and run to him, that you rejected him.

Frank was in the bedroom, grabbing some of your more personal items; the plain gold cross your mother gave to you for your sixteenth birthday, your parent’s wedding rings on a silver chain, and a set of earrings from your grandmother when you realized someone was behind you.

“You stupid cow,” James snarled, wrapping a hand in your hair and yanking you off the floor. Your hands were on his, nails digging in as you tried to break free.

Frank stormed into the room, confusion and anger in his eyes as he took in the sight before him. “Let her go, James,” he requested, his voice oddly calm.

“You,” James accused, his eyes dark and dangerous. “This is  _my_  home,  _my_  bitch. Get your own.”

“That’s no- not what’s hap- happening,” you stammered, praying you could lie your way out of this.

James whirled you around to face him. “You’d do best not to lie to me.” When he wrenched your head back, you saw Frank react, taking a step closer.

“I’m not, I swear,” you insisted, working hard to keep your voice calm. “Fra- Frank offered to help me clean up the place. That’s all.”

You could see that Frank didn’t like what you were doing but, he knew it was better to try and diffuse the bomb rather than burn the wick faster. Frank’s hand disappeared into his pocket for a quick moment, and that was all the time James needed to make up his mind.

“Nah,” he grunted, a dark gleam in his eyes. “I don’t fuckin’ buy it.”

Frank took a step closer, his hands out, his head shaking, but James wasted no time. It didn’t matter that you were bigger than most other women, James was strong, and he knew it. He shoved you away from him, sending you careening into Frank, and the two of you tumbled to the floor, grunting at the impact of both your body against his, and his against the wall, where you slid to the floor.

“Are you okay?” Frank gasped, his eyes scanning your face.

There was no time for you to answer. James was there, ripping Frank away from you and throwing a punch that connected with Frank’s jaw. You gave a scream, a plea for James to stop, but you should have known better; your protests had only ever fueled his aggression. Frank was seeing stars, shaking his head, his fists coming up to defend himself. If only James wasn’t so goddamn fast.

The back of Frank’s head hit the wall and his body went limp, landing on the floor in a crumpled heap. You scrambled over and put yourself between Frank and James’ foot as he swung it towards Frank, slamming into your shoulder, making you cry out.

“Shut up,” James screamed, unadulterated rage thrumming through him.

His hand was in your hair, yanking you from the floor, but you didn’t go quietly. You kicked and you screamed and you punched him in the chest and sides, screaming like a banshee, hellbent on making sure James knew you weren’t going to take anymore abuse from him. You were driving James back, his hands held up, trying to block your fists. The man might have had more muscles than you, but hell hath no fury…

With a shrill scream, you put your hands on his chest and shoved him with every ounce of strength you had, and it was as if everything went into slow motion. James fell back, his feet catching in the mess had had made while destroying the place. His dark eyes went wide with panic and his mouth was open, probably calling your name, but all you could hear was the rush of blood in your ears.

The second the back of his head hit the edge of the counter, the bubble popped, and James’ lifeless body fell to the floor.


	8. Chapter 8

By the time Frank came to, he was in the back of an ambulance, the siren screaming, and a mask over his mouth. His head was pounding and his brain felt twice its normal size. It was making him nauseous, and the potholes weren’t helping matters.

“Y/N,” he groaned. “Whe- where is she?” Frank moved to get up, but there was a hand on his chest, forcing him back down.

“Easy there, Frank,” the paramedic said. “You’ve got a pretty severe head injury.”

“I don’t care,” he ground out. “I need… need to…” His eyelids were so heavy, he couldn’t keep them open any longer.

The last thing he heard was the EMT shouting, “His BP is too high!”

There was a blanket on your shoulders and someone helping you out of the house. You didn’t know who it was, because all you could see was James; the stunned grunt that was driven from his lungs as you pushed him with all your might and the nauseating sound as the back of his head cracking as it hit the edge of the counter, you couldn’t shake it. It was playing on a loop, over and over again, even after he was pronounced dead and the white sheet was covering him.

You wanted to scream and cry until it stopped, but nothing would come out of you; not even tears. You just sat there, in the ambulance, a blank look on your face, while the EMT looked over your wounds.

The same officer that helped you with obtaining the restraining order came up and cleared her throat. “How we looking?”

“Just finishing up,” replied the EMT. Once your shirt was covering the large bruises on your side, the EMT jumped down, leaving you alone with Officer Andrews.

She pulled out a pen and flipped open her notebook. “Can you tell me what happened tonight?”

_I killed him. I killed James. And… and I think Frank is dead. No one will tell me anything._

“Y/N,” Andrews said softly. “I need you to talk to me, okay?”

 _Frank was helping me pack,_  your brain tried explaining, but your mouth wasn’t cooperating.

She looked around, making sure no one was watching, and rested her hand on yours. The gentle touch made you jump, made your eyes slam into focus, made the look on James’ face as he died disappear from your brain.

“I was… we thought it wou- would be better,” you stammered, your eyes filling with tears.

“You and Frank?” Andrews started taking notes.

“James was in jail,” was your simple answer.

She nodded in understanding. “So, the two of you came here to pack your belongings?”

“Yes,” you sobbed, your hand covering your mouth. “James was supposed to be in jail. It was the only way I would come here.”

More notes were scribbled down. “Walk me through what happened.”

Frustration was eating at your already frayed nerves. “Tell me why he was out of jail.” You were in no position to make demands, but that didn’t stop you.

“I don’t have an answer for you,” was the only thing Andrews said.

You wanted to believe her, you really did, but you were finding it really difficult. While you wanted to stand your ground, you were too tired to argue right then.

“Frank was in the bedroom,” you started, your shoulders sagging. “Getting some jewelry that means a lot to me.”

“Okay, that’s good. What happened next?”

The breath you pulled in was ragged, making your throat hurt. “James, he uh, he came up behind me and grabbed my hair,” you sniffled loudly as tears streamed down your cheeks. “I… I tried getting free, but he uh, God, he wouldn’t let me go.”

Andrews sat there, taking notes, letting you set the pace for the remainder of your statement.

“When Frank heard James’ voice, he came out of the room, and James just lost it.”

“How so?” she asked.

Another ragged breath was pulled in slowly. “He accused Frank of making a move on me, told him to, ‘get his own bitch.’”

“He said that?”

“His exact words were, ‘ _This is my home, my bitch. Get your own,_ ’” you scoffed and rolled your eyes.

Her pen was still scratching against the paper when she asked, “And then?”

“I told James that that’s not what was happening, that I asked Frank to come over, to help clean up the place,” you elaborated.

“So, the broken glass all over the floor wasn’t from tonight?”

You were shaking your head. “No, it was that way when we got here.”

“Good to know,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

You were staring at your wringing hands. “James didn’t believe it, that Frank was there to help me.”

“Why is that?”

“My car,” you chuckled in bemusement. “I’ve taken that piece of shit into the garage where Frank works almost every goddamn day because the radiator keeps overheating. James was convinced that I was stepping out on him, and nothing I said or did could convince him otherwise. Seeing Frank in the house tonight must have solidified it in his mind, because when Frank stepped forward, James shoved me into Frank,  _hard_.”

Andrews looked at you with a sad gleam in her eyes. You could tell she hated this part of the job; getting a statement from a battered woman, especially when there was a dead body. “Then what happened?”

“James went ballistic,” you choked. “Started beating up on Frank, punching him until his head hit the wall. After he went down, James went to kick him. I don’t… I don’t know what came over me. I just… I put myself in front of Frank, took the kick.”

“Are you okay?” she couldn’t help but ask, concern etched in her features.

You shrugged half-heartedly. “I need x-rays.”

Andrews gave a tight smile before asking, “After the kick, what happened?”

“He uh, he grabbed my hair again and pulled me up,” you answered, your voice trembling. “I just… I had had  _enough_  of his abuse, of hearing him call me every vile name in the book. I screamed and pushed him with everything I had. His feet, they got caught in the mess and he fell back. If I close my eyes, I can still hear the sound of his head hitting the counter.”

You broke down, covering face as your emotions hit you like a tidal wave. Despite the pain screaming in your side, you bent over and covered your face with your hands. You didn’t hear Andrews tell you that she had no further questions, that she’d be in touch. You didn’t hear the rig start up, or the conversation between the driver and the EMT that had been tending to you. You didn’t know the rig had moved until the back door opened up and the flashing lights broke through your fingers.

Marge had been waiting for Frank to wake up for almost three hours. In a small town, word travelled fast. When something big went down, it travelled even faster. She had gotten to the hospital before Frank had been admitted, and kept pestering the nurses until they finally caved, allowing her into his room after the doctor had gone. So, when he started making noises and shifting on the small bed, she was standing over him, holding one of his hands.

“Easy Frank,” she murmured.

“Can you turn down the lights?” he grumbled, his voice thick.

While she did that, Frank hit the button that moved him into a sitting position. “Where’s Y/N?”

Marge poured him a glass of ice water, mostly ice. “It was hard enough to get in here.”

“We gotta find her.” He moved to get out of the bed, but Marge stopped him; not that it took much.

“Uh uh, Adler,” she admonished. “You’ve got a bad concussion. You ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

If his head didn’t feel like it was going to explode, he wouldn’t have given up. “I just need to know that she’s okay, Marge.”

“I know, kid,” she sighed, straightening the blankets over his legs.

He stared hard at her through narrowed eyes. “What? You know somethin’.”

Her lips pulled into a tight line as she shook her head. “It ain’t good, Frank.”

“Tell me, Marge,” he implored, snatching her hand from the bed. “Tell me.”

She blew out a heavy breath before delivering the news. “James is dead, and they’re sayin’ Y/N killed him.”

“Wait… he’s dead?” Frank’s aching mind was swirling, trying to remember everything he could, but the last thing he could remember was James throwing punches.

“You hit your head pretty hard,” Marge clued him in.

Frank’s eyes were flicking back and forth and his brows were furrowed. “You know what happened.”

“Come on, Frank. You need to rest.” She should have known better than to try and dissuade Frank, he was more stubborn than a mule.

“No, Marge, I don’t,” he ground out, wincing at the pain that shot through him. “What I need is for you to tell me what happened.”

“I don’t know specifics.”

“I don’t care,” he insisted.

Marge huffed out a breath through her nose. “After James knocked you out, she ended up pushing him and he hit his head on the edge of the countertop. He was dead before he hit the ground.”

A small sense of relief washed through Frank. If Y/N was strong enough to push James away, than she must not have gotten hurt too badly. His head fell back against the pillow and he blew out a sigh of relief.

“I need you to do me a favor, Marge.”

She took hold of his hand and said, “I’ll find her, kid.”

“Thank you,” he murmured before the pitch of unconsciousness took over.


	9. Chapter 9

It had been one hell of a day, and all you wanted to do was go home and take a long hot shower, followed by passing out for about four, maybe seven days. You ached everywhere, the kind of ache that settled deep into your bones, your very bruised and should-have-been-broken bones.

You had gotten lucky when James kicked you. As painful as it was, James wasn’t kicking at full-force, he had been too drunk to do that. Needless to say, you were surprised when the doctor said you had no broken bones, “But, it’s going to feel like you wish you had. Broken bones can often heal faster than a deep bone bruise, as you have.”

After getting an official all clear from the doctor, you were approached by Officer Andrews.

“How are you holding up?” she asked gently, as if you were a scared animal that would bolt if she spoke too loud.

You were staring at your hands. “I’ve been better,” you answered dryly.

“I can imagine,” Andrews mused.

“Hey, have you heard anything about Frank?” Your chest went tight. If something happened to him…

The officer nodded her head. “He’s got a pretty bad concussion, but nothing a week of rest won’t cure.”

“Oh, thank God,” you sighed heavily, your shoulders shaking, tears stinging your eyes.

Andrews’ eyes narrowed the slightest bit. “Is there something going on between you and Mister Adler?”

“What?” you gasped, your head flying up. “No! God, no. He’s a friend, that’s all. I would never,  _never_  cheat on James.” You really hoped that she believed you. You couldn’t afford for her not to. If it was suspected that there was something going on between you and Frank, they might suspect it was anything but self-defense.

“I know it’s been a long day and you’re probably itching to go home, but there are just a few more questions. Are you up to answering them right now?” she asked, pulling out her notebook and pen.

_No. I am not up to answering anymore of your stupid questions._

You forced a smile and nodded. “I’m good.”

Several long hours passed before Marge found you in the waiting room. You were bent at the waist, forearms on your thighs, head hung, shoulders shaking. When she slid into the seat next to you, draping an arm around your shoulders, you broke down.

It was all too much to hold in any longer. With James dead, there was a part of you that felt relief; you were no longer wedged under his thumb, he had no control over you anymore, you wouldn’t need to hide the array of bruises any longer. However, that was buried beneath oppressive layers of guilt and shame. You were responsible for the death of James, no one else, just you. If only you could have gotten the nerve to leave sooner, or had said no the first time he asked you out; you could have done a million other things at a million different times instead of killing the man you had onced loved.

And Frank had gotten hurt in the process. Jesus, how could you have let that happen? Frank was your friend, had been there whenever you needed help, had gone above and beyond when it came to the confines of ‘doing his job.’ He was gentle and caring, funny and charming, handsome and smart, and never once spoke to you as if you were inferior, or called you names because of your round figure. Frank was a good man, and he didn’t deserve what had happened to him, what you had done to him.

“Hey, it’s okay, Y/N,” Marge said, her tone low and soothing. “Let it out. I got you, girl.”

You latched onto her, sobbing openly, not caring about how other people might react. Your life was forever changed, nothing was going to be the same and, in a way, you were okay with that. Then again, you were scared of what was to come; you were now in uncharted territory with no compass, no map to show you the right way to travel, what routes to avoid, which ones to stop at and enjoy.

Marge handed you several kleenexes after the tears had started to slow down. “You okay?”

“No,” you murmured before blowing your nose. “I’m far from okay, Marge. I killed a man.”

Her hand was on yours and her eyes drilled into yours. “Listen to me,” she urged. “James is dead, yes, but you did not kill him.”

“I did, I pushed him,” you argued, your throat going thick once again.

“He pushed you, he  _kicked_  you,” Marge bit out, her cheeks going red. “He beat you almost every damn day. What you did was self-defense if ever I’ve seen it. You didn’t push him with the intent of him dyin’. You pushed him to get him to back off. If they can’t see that, they’re dumber than they look.”

Deep down, you knew what she was saying was right, but your brain refused to accept it. She could say that all day, every day, for the rest of your life, and you weren’t sure if you would ever believe her.

“I don’t know, Marge,” you mumbled, your head shaking as it dropped.

Marge huffed out a breath through her nose before changing the subject. “I saw Frank.”

Your head flew up faster than you thought possible. “You did? How is he? I’ve been askin’, but they won’t tell me anything. I’m not family.”

“He’s hurtin’ pretty good,” she informed you, tucking some hair behind your ear. “But, the doc says he’ll be fine; it’s a concussion, a bad one.”

Guilt slithered through you like a slimy snake, wrapping itself around your spine and heart, squeezing it tight. “A concussion he wouldn’t have had if he never had met me.”

“Y/N, that’s enough of that, you hear me?” she chastised, her eyes glittering angrily. “Frank gettin’ hurt isn’t your fault either. He’s a grown ass man that did the right thing by goin’ with you. Yeah, he got hurt, but he didn’t go into the situation not knowing what might happen. Speakin’ of, why was James there?”

With a loud scoff, you scraped a hand through your hair. “Guess there was a big bust,” you started, glancing at your watch, “yesterday, and James’ offense was the least of their problems.”

“They didn’t,” Marge gasped loudly.

“They did,” you said begrudgingly.

“What else did they say?” she inquired.

You knew what she meant, she wanted to know if they were going to press charges against you. It was one of the first things you asked Officer Andrews.

One of your shoulders bobbed once. “They have to go through the whole thing, present any evidence - or lack thereof - and submit it to the district attorney’s office first.”

“And how long is that going to take?”

Another shoulder bob as you answered, “Who knows. Could be a week, or a month, maybe longer.”

“Well, that’s somethin’, I guess,” she sighed, her hand grabbing yours. “Have they cleared you to leave?”

“Yeah, I just… I didn’t know where you were,” you started to say. “I didn’t know where Frank was, and I just…” your voice trailed off as your throat, once again, went thick.

Marge gave your hand a squeeze and smiled warmly. “Do you want to see Frank before we go home?”

All you could do was nod. You pushed out of the uncomfortably narrow seat and followed her down a maze the maze of halls of the ICU, until finally, she opened a door. Frank was lying there, his eyes closed, long lashes fanned out, looking every bit like he was sleeping. You rounded the bed, to the side where you could lay your hand over his without interfering with an IV.

He stirred, groaning as his head turned toward you. “Y/N?” he gruffed, his eyes fluttering open.

“Yeah, Frank,” you rasped. “It’s me. Easy there.”

Frank was trying to sit up, but stopped and pressed a palm to his forehead. “How are… are you okay?”

“Don’t worry about me,” you assured him, squeezing his hand.

“But, I do. I can’t help it.” Frank turned his hand over, sliding his fingers between yours.

You should have pulled away, slipped your hand from his, gotten up, and walked out, but you didn’t. You gave him a warm smile. “You shouldn’t,” you insisted weakly. “What about you, huh? How are you feeling?”

“Like I got my head slammed into a wall,” he answered with a wry chuckle.

“Frank, I… I’m sorry about what happened to you.” There were more tears filling your eyes that you tried to blink away.

“Hey, no apologies, okay?” He gave your hand a squeeze.

With a soft huff, you shook your head. “I’ll try, okay? It’s just something I’m used to doing.  _Everything_  was my fault.”

“That’s the past, honey,” Marge said as she approached Frank’s bed.

You pulled in a shuddering breath. “I know, I know. I’ll work on it, I promise.”

“That’s all we can ask,” Frank ground out, his face pinched in pain. He quickly pressed the button that controlled the morphine. “Now, why don’t you two go home and get some rest. I’m going to pass out in about five minutes.”

“You do that, darlin’,” Marge hummed before bending over to kiss Frank’s forehead.

Before releasing Frank’s hand, you gave it a squeeze, sweeping your thumb over the pulse in his wrist. “I hope you feel better in the morn… later.” It was well after five am at that point, so your already dizzy brain wasn’t functioning correctly.

“Goodnight,” he slurred, the morphine already kicking in.

You and Marge repeated his statement before turning off the lights and walking out, closing the door quietly.


	10. Chapter 10

##  **SIX WEEKS LATER**

Mrs. Hudson, your therapist for the past five weeks, was writing in her notebook a few moments after you took your seat. “How are you feeling today, Y/N?”

“Good, really good, actually,” you answered with a genuine smile. “I haven’t had a nightmare for several nights now.”

“That’s great,” she assured you, her pen scratching softly before her pine eyes met yours. “Did you end up going back to work like we discussed?”

Your hands were in your lap, wringing together. It didn’t matter how long you had been seeing your therapist, or how much you trusted her, you were still nervous talking about yourself in such a way to someone. Well, anyone besides Frank and Marge.

“I did. Yesterday was my first day back.”

“I bet that wasn’t easy, getting back into the swing of things,” she noted.

You gave a wry chuckle and shook your head. “It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure. As badly as I wanted to go back sooner, I’m glad I waited.”

In the weeks following James’ death, doing anything more than lounging around the house, giving your body time to heal without the added stress of waitressing, was too much. You were sure you had gained another ten pounds, but at that point in time, you didn’t have anyone to impress, to keep happy; just yourself.

On the sixth day of flipping through the channels, of dwelling on the words of negativity bouncing around inside of your head, of hearing James’ raging voice, even in your dreams, Marge had suggested seeing a therapist.

“It will take some time, but it really helped me after I got out,” Marge assured you. “I worry about you, kid.” She had given you the number of Mrs. Hudson, and an appointment was made for the following day.

Clearing her throat, Mrs. Hudson asked, “Are you taking it easy on yourself?” She didn’t  _only_  mean your job.

The dark and dangerous thoughts and memories of that night, of all the nights prior to ‘the incident’ were damaging. Your self-esteem beforehand was admittedly low, but it seemed to plummet further after watching James drop to the floor, the life snuffed out of him at your hand.

“I’m trying,” you answered. “Marge has started putting up sticky notes everywhere with affirmations, and Frank, he uh…” a flash of heat crept up your neck at the mention of his name.

“Ah, yes, Frank,” Mrs. Hudson mused. “How is he doing?”

“He’s fine now, got the all clear from the doctor a couple weeks back.”

She shifted in her chair, uncrossed and crossed them the other way. “I remember you telling me about that. How have things been with him?”

Your feelings for Frank had come to light pretty early on in your sessions. Not that you had said anything directly do Mrs. Hudson about him, but as he was half of your support system, it was easy for her to see how you felt about him every time his name was mentioned. You tried to brush it off, saying that because of what happened, it wasn’t a surprise that the two of you were close. She had seen right through that.

Yeah, you were in love with Frank Adler. Head over heels, tongue-tied, sweaty palms, heart threatening to burst of your chest, unequivocally, want to spend the rest of your life with him, in love. So, what was stopping you from being with Frank? The investigation that surrounded James’ death, that’s what.

The last thing you wanted to do was to make it look like you had been cheating on James, that he had been murdered, rather than suffer at the hands of self-defense. And, it wasn’t like you didn’t know how Frank felt about you. Between all the awkward shifting on his feet and blushing whenever he looked at you, his hand carding through his hair, his azure eyes sparkling; it was pretty clear that Frank wanted to be with you.

“They haven’t, not really,” you murmured.

“Why is that?” she questioned, her brows drawn together. “I thought the investigation was completed last week.”

It was your turn to shift in your seat, though instead of crossing your legs, you crossed your ankles. “It was.”

“And?”

You hadn’t really told anyone of the outcome, that there was sufficient evidence to not have charges pressed against you, that James died because you acted in self-defense. Yet, you were surprised that she didn’t know. It was a small town, after all.

There was a glass of water next to you that you drained before answering the question. “They closed the case, no charges filed, not enough evidence to support a murder, let alone a manslaughter charge.”

“That’s wonderful news, Y/N,” Mrs. Hudson gasped, her hands clenched together happily.

“It is,” you agreed, your lips pulling into a smile. “It’s as if my whole life has been handed back to me. I can start over; clean slate.”

“You don’t sound so happy about that,” she noted.

You shook your head, silently disagreeing with her. “I’m thrilled, honestly. It’s just… James was a part of my life for so damn long, that… I just… I’m not sure how to start over. It’s helped, coming here and talking to you; you’ve taught me some some amazing ways to cope, and I’m extremely grateful. I know that the road ahead isn’t going to be an easy one. But, getting started, putting on those shoes and trudging down it; that’s the scary part.”

She was scratching down some more notes and nodding as you talked. “You’re absolutely right and, I must say, you’ve made some amazing strides since you first came here. I’m really proud of the steps you’ve taken. And, as you’ve stated previously, the support system you have in Marge and Frank is extremely important and beneficial. I’ve met them around town before, they’re good people; genuinely kind-hearted. They’re not the kind of people to hurt someone they care so deeply for.”

“I care deeply for them, as well,” you confirmed, your heart swelling at just the thought of them. “They’ve become my family.”

At that, the conversation turned. “Since you brought it up,” she started, turning the page in her notebook. “We haven’t talked about your family much.”

You shifted uneasily in your seat, that swelling feeling in your subsiding, making way for a knot of anxiety. “No, and I’m not sure I want to.”

“You know I won’t pressure you into anything you’re not comfortable doing.”

“I know, and I appreciate that,” you said, your voice tight and thin. “I also know that it’s something that needs to be talked about.”

Mrs. Hudson tipped her head in curiosity. “Is that something you’d like to talk about today?”

You wanted to talk about the nights you witnessed your dad beating up your mother through the thin sheet you had pulled over your head, hoping he hadn’t seen you. Or the nights you could hear her cries through the thin walls as he forced himself on her. Then there were the days you helped her hide the bruises that came from keeping him away from you.

However, today wasn’t that day. “Maybe next time.”

“Okay then,” she said with a warm smile. “Maybe next time, it is.”

The clock on her desk chimed, signaling the end of your session. “I’ll see you next week, okay?”

“Absolutely,” you confirmed, pushing out of the chair.

She followed suit, closing the notebook she used just for your sessions. “Do me a favor, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“Tell that boy how you feel. You deserve to be loved,  _really_  loved, Y/N, and Frank is the man to do just that,” Mrs. Hudson said as she walked you to the door. She didn’t wait for you to agree, just gave your elbow a comforting squeeze.

Frank was sitting on one end of the couch, his long legs spread out in front of him, and an arm draped over the cushion. “Dinner was amazing, thank you, Y/N.”

You handed him a bottle of beer before taking a spot next to him. “Just my way of thanking you for being there for me.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” he softly argued. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

When tears pricked your eyes, you sniffled loudly and took a long drink of beer. You didn’t say anything for a long stretch, prompted only when Frank’s hand was on your thigh.

“Can I tell you something, Frank?”

“You know you can,” he assured you, sitting up fully, setting the beer on the table.

He didn’t press you to start talking, which was one of the things you loved about him. Frank would sit there, silently waiting for you to talk whenever you felt like it, no awkward silence.

“My therapist has been pressing me… no, that’s not right,” you argued with yourself. You shook your head, letting out a frustrated huff.

Frank’s hand was on yours, his thumb sweeping back and forth, the callouses that came from manual labor oddly soothing against your skin. “Is suggesting the right word you need?”

“Yes, thank you. Mrs. Hudson has been suggesting that I tell you something.”

“Are you okay?” There was a glimmer of panic in his eyes at the mere thought of something else happening to you.

You turned your hand over in his, lacing your fingers together. “I’m fine, Frank. I promise. It’s not… bad. I don’t think. I just… I don’t want to ruin - I love you,” you blurted out, crimson coloring your face and neck. “And I know that, I mean, there’s something here,” you motioned between the two of you, “right?”

Frank’s hands were on your face and he was kissing you. You melted into him, sighing as his tongue probed into your mouth, your hands carding through his hair, gripping his wide shoulders. By the time you parted, the two of you couldn’t breathe.

“I love you, Y/N,” he panted, his forehead resting against yours. “So much. I have for a while, long before… the situation six weeks ago. I just couldn’t say anything, not then. But now that I can, I ain’t gonna stop.”

You were a sniffling mess. “I don’t… good things don’t happen to me, Frank.”

“They do now,” he assured you, his hands on both sides of your face.

He started kissing your face, smearing your tears, murmuring with each kiss about how much he loved you, every inch of you. You were crying harder, collapsing against his chest, wrapping your arms around him and holding onto him as if he were your life raft. Which, let’s face it, he had saved your life.

“I love you, Frank.”

You could hear the smile in his voice when he said, “I love you, too.”


End file.
